


Never forgive me, never forget me

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and Fingolfin have a final conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never forgive me, never forget me

Sleep came rarely among the dangers of the Helcaraxë, and when it did, out of utter exhaustion, it was more often than not the gateway to more nightmares. Fingolfin found himself in a bright, seemingly endless hallway, suffused by the sort of haze produced by intense heat. 

Fëanor stood a few feet from him, arms crossed over his chest, looking pensively at a picture on the wall (a picture Fingolfin couldn't see, and didn't care to). He stirred from his contemplation when he perceived Fingolfin's presence.

“It's you,” he said flatly.

There was a myriad things Fingolfin wanted to scream at him. What was wrung out of him by exacerbation and despair was the question that had been tormenting and spurring him on since he had made out the treacherous red glow of the burning ships against the black horizon. 

“How could you?”

“How could I,” Fëanor repeated. “How dare I want to be rid of what dragged me down, once and for all.”

“I swore to follow you.”

“I never asked you to. Full brother in heart...it was way too late. You did it for yourself, at any rate. It made you look so good.”

There was an uncanny calmness (an unforgiving calmness, like the ice) in Fëanor's tone, but his words enraged Fingolfin, and he wanted to protest, deny them (even though they were true, in part), stamp them out with his own.

“I am crossing the Ice,” he spat, “you will never be rid of me.”

Fëanor hardly reacted. “I will not be there for you.”

“You have to,” Fingolfin demanded.

“Aren't you happy? It's what I deserved, isn't it?”

“What -”

Fingolfin's question quiesced as Fëanor moved towards him. They stood face to face – they had rarely been that close – then Fëanor put a hand to his shoulder. It was an almost caring gesture.

“Forget me.”

“Forget you?” Fëanor had to be making fun of him. 

“It shall make you happy.”

Fëanor turned his back on him and started to walk away.

“You can't leave!” Fingolfin would have followed him, grabbed him and forced him to face his pain and that of all the people that were crossing with him. But he couldn't move. His legs were heavy and stiff, as they had been from the start of the gruesome trek through the ice, though it was not cold that thwarted him there in the dream. 

Fëanor walked away. Slowly, looking terribly weary.

Fingolfin knew, at that moment, he would never be able to reach him again.

“It feels...it feels like burning in here,” he blurted. But the sensation wasn't properly that of scorching. The heat felt rather like a solid, burdensome thing that threatened to crush him if he let down his guard.

Fëanor stopped and turned. 

Fingolfin could barely make out his half-brother's face in the blurry distance, but he thought he looked surprised. 

“How ironic, that you should feel it too, now.”

Fire blazed and enveloped him, and Fingolfin woke with a start on the ice cold as death.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to Akira Yamaoka/Joe Romersa for using one more of their titles.


End file.
